Chapter 227: Chapter: 227 Four days.

Vivian finished explaining the plan.

He told the captains and vice-generals everything clearly: he would fight the Clown himself, Duke Sant would take on that strange creature, and Duke Vined would lead the army straight to the wall and break through it.

When he was done, he looked around the tent one last time. His voice became soft, almost gentle.

“I can’t promise how it will end,” he said slowly, “but I can tell you this, the end is close. Very close.”

He paused. Every captain and vice-general stared at him.

No one spoke. The only sound was the soft crackle of the torches on the poles.

Vivian gave a small nod, like he was satisfied they had heard him.

“That is all,” he said. “We attack in four days. Be ready.”

With those words, he walked back to his chair and sat down quietly.

A moment later, Duke Vined stood up from his seat. His tall figure filled the space. He looked at the men still standing in front of him.

“We will follow this plan exactly,” he said in a firm, deep voice.

“Rest well tonight. Prepare your men. We move forward in four days, just as Vivian said.”

He raised one hand slightly.

“You may go now.”

The captains and vice-generals stood up at once.

They bowed low toward the three men, Duke Vined, Duke Sant, and Vivian, then turned and walked out of the tent.

As they left, low voices filled the air.

They talked among themselves about weapons, horses, formations, and supplies.

Their footsteps faded into the camp noise outside.

When the last man was gone, the tent became very quiet.

Duke Vined slowly sank back into his chair.

His strong shoulders dropped a little.

He rubbed his forehead with two fingers and muttered under his breath, almost to himself.

“Are you really sure the end is near, son?”

Vivian turned his head and met his father’s eyes.

His face stayed calm, no trace of doubt.

“I’m certain,” he answered simply.

Duke Vined looked at him for a long moment. Then he gave one short nod.

“Hmm,” he said quietly.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, and let out a slow breath, like a man carrying a heavy weight.

Duke Sant had already walked to the side of the tent.

He reached into the air with one hand.

A faint glow appeared, and his long sword slid out from his subspace ring.

The blade caught the torchlight and shone silver.

He sat on a low stool, pulled a soft cloth from his pocket, and began to polish the sword carefully.

His old hands moved slowly but steadily.

Every now and then he lifted the blade, checked it against the light, and gave a small nod to himself.

Vivian stayed in his chair for a few more minutes.

He watched the flames dance in the torches. Then he stood up quietly.

“Father,” he said without turning around,

“I’m going to walk around the camp for a while.”

Duke Vined opened his eyes just a little. He looked at his son’s back.

“Alright,” he said in a low voice. “Come back before sunset.”

Vivian nodded once. He pushed the heavy tent flap aside and stepped out into the

evening air.

“Haaa…”

Vivian took a deep breath.

He started walking slowly between the lines of tents, hands behind his back, eyes calm but sharp.

He walked slowly through the camp at first, passing rows of tents where soldiers laughed quietly around campfires or sharpened their blades under the fading light.

The air smelled of smoke, roasted meat, and oiled metal.

He nodded to a few men who saluted him, but his mind was already far ahead.

After a while, he left the camp behind. His boots crunched on snow as he climbed a small rise.

From there, the land opened up. In the distance, the estate of Duke Tramplin stood like a dark giant against the white snow.

Tall stone walls surrounded the whole place, high and thick, topped with sharp spikes.

Tiny figures, soldiers, moved along the battlements like ants.

Torches flickered along the walls, small dots of fire in the growing dusk.

Flags with the Tramplin crest hung limp in the still air.

Vivian stopped. He stared at the walls for a long time.

His eyes, usually warm and steady, slowly changed.

The softness drained away. They turned ice cold, hard as frozen steel.

“Duke Tramplin…” he muttered under his breath.

His voice was low, almost a growl. “You have made me and my family suffer so much.”

He clenched his fists tight. His knuckles turned white.

“If I, Vivian D. Zenithara, do not wipe out your entire family,” he said slowly, each word sharp with killing intent, “then I am not a man.”

Memories flooded back, not just from this life, but from that strange dream-like state he had lived through.

In that other life, Duke Tramplin had crushed them step by step.

Even Edward…

He took a slow, deep breath. The cold wind brushed his face, but it did nothing to cool the fire inside him.

“I will make you regret everything,” he whispered.

“Every tear, every drop of blood, every sleepless night.”

His eyes narrowed on the distant walls.

“But I won’t kill you first.”

A dark promise settled in his heart.

“I will kill your family in front of your eyes. Whether they are innocent or not. Wives, children, brothers, anyone who carries your name.”

“They will all pay for the part they played in your karma. You will watch it all. You will feel every second of it. Only then will I end you.”

He stood there a little longer, letting the hatred settle deep inside him like roots in dark soil.

“Just you wait!”

Vivian turned away at last. His face was calm again on the outside, but inside, the ice had formed completely.

He started walking back toward the camp. Sunset was

In his life, he had never felt so much hatred toward anyone.

Not like this. Duke Tramplin was different.

The man had earned a lifetime of Vivian’s rage, every betrayal, every wound to his family, every life stolen or broken.

When Vivian finally got his hands on that bastard, he would make sure the torture lasted long. Very long.

“Haaa…” Vivian let out a long, tired sigh. The fire in his chest eased just a little.

“I will end this war,” he muttered to the empty air, “and then return home to take care of Charlotte.”

His eyes softened as her face came to mind, her gentle smile, her warm hands, the way she looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

She was pregnant now.

He should have been there from the start, holding her, protecting her, making sure she never felt alone.

But the hatred burned too hot.

Until he killed that man, his heart would never calm.

He couldn’t go back to her with blood still on his hands and anger in his soul.

He lifted his gaze to the sky. The clouds looked thick, almost like they were holding back tears of their own.

“Son…” he whispered. “In that life, I wasn’t able to give you the love of a father.”

He remembered it all too clearly, the dream-like state.

After his death Charlotte had trapped his soul in a pendant.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, but he could see and feel everything.

He watched from that small crystal prison as the years passed.

The boy… his boy. Red hair like his mother’s, flowing and bright. But the face, exactly like Vivian’s.

Same blue eyes, same strong nose, same sharp jaw. A perfect little copy.

The child had been so understanding, even as a toddler.

Charlotte never told him the truth. She said, “Your father is stuck somewhere far away. He needs rescue. One day, you’ll save him.”

From that day on, the boy picked up a wooden sword.

He swung it every morning in the garden, small arms shaking with effort, face serious and determined.

He trained harder as he grew, whispering to himself, “I have to get stronger. For Father.”

Vivian had watched every swing from the pendant.

Every time the boy fell and got up again.

Every time he smiled proudly at a new move.

Every quiet night when the boy promised to himself, “Wait for me, Dad. I’ll come for you.”

Vivian’s eyes turned wet. A single tear slipped down his cheek, cold against his skin.

“I wanted to hold you so badly,” he said softly.

“Play with you. Teach you. Show you the world. Love you the way a father should.”

He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Charlotte didn’t let you hate me. She kept hope alive in you. And you… you chose to believe.”

He looked back toward the camp lights in the distance, faint and warm.

“I will be waiting for you, son,” Vivian said, voice thick.

“I hope… in this life you choose this useless man as your father again.”

He stood there a moment longer, letting the wind dry his eyes.

Then he straightened his shoulders. The hatred was still there, cold and sharp, but now it had purpose.

Not just revenge. Protection. For Charlotte. For the son he had never truly held.

Four days.

He would finish this.

Then he would go home.

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